


fluency

by domesticatedantelope (vaultie_glass)



Series: power couple [5]
Category: Ride or Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jealousy, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 18:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20680178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaultie_glass/pseuds/domesticatedantelope
Summary: The one where Colt's had just about enough of being left out.





	fluency

They’re _doing it again._

Colt sets his wrench down, popping his stiff knuckles with a swift clench of his hands. Caged under the body of a car is not the place to lose his head; he repeats this to himself as the first hot licks of anger creep steadily up the back of his neck. He cracks the muscles there as well for good measure, but the tension lingers.

He can hear their voices drifting over from the front room, just barely audible above the din of static fuzzy music from the beat-ass radio against the wall. Damn thing is almost older than he is, but his pop insists on keeping it around, and normally that godforsaken crackle on the high notes is the most offensive auditory torture gnawing at his nerves, but -

Logan says something soft and susurrant, and Mercy _laughs_, that sugar taffy laughter Colt so covetously wishes he could keep just for himself. Against his will he strains to listen, but the words slip uselessly against his brain, a thousand tiny locks he lacks the keys for. He can’t tear into what he doesn’t understand, and the deficit infuriates him. 

He tells himself it’s just the nature of Spanish as a language, legato sounds the two of them bounce back and forth like old friends, soft syllables all looped together into something sensual and secret and locked beyond his understanding - that a romance language sounds _romantic_, and it has nothing to do with the fact that it’s _Logan_.

Still, the echo of their conversation from the other room stings between his teeth like a cavity, hollow and sour. He grinds his jaw to stamp the feeling out.

Colt’s roamed the streets of LA since his feet could carry him. Spanish is no stranger to his ear, but Mercy rockets through the sounds like she could ride them to the stars, all rapidfire sibilants too fast to parse apart. Then there’s a verse of whispered giggles while Logan drawls through his response, and the whole thing is altogether too fond and too familiar and something feels like fucking fire in the cavern of his chest. 

The creeper squeaks on timeworn wheels when he rolls out from underneath the car. “All right, that’s it.”

He nearly brains himself against the side of the car when Mona’s voice chirps knowingly from behind him. “I was wondering how long you were gonna put up with that.” 

“Jesus, Mona, how long’ve you been…?” He staggers to his feet, wipes down his hands and casts a withering glare in her direction. “_Shut up_.”

She barely glances up from her nails when he storms past, but the smug curl of her laughter carries after him. 

Jealousy propels him into the next room in three long strides, reckless energy that tenses in his fists and the edges of his vision. They’re hunched together over Mercy’s phone as she swipes through her photos, but their heads both lift in tandem when he steps into the doorway. She blinks at him across the room, dark eyes flaring wide and round as he stalks toward her, and recognition dawns across her face only moments before he hooks an arm around her waist and hauls her bodily over his shoulder.

“What - Colt!” Mercy gasps, curling two tiny fists into the back of his shirt for balance. 

Logan’s already on his feet, reaching out as it to stop him. “Hey, you can’t-!”

“Say it in Spanish, asshole.”

“Colt _Kaneko! Put me down!_” Her voice scales a few octaves higher as she struggles against his grip. “I’m a _feminist_, for Christ’s sake!” 

When he snorts a laugh, her knee swings in to deliver a swift kick toward his chest. He’s faster, catching her thigh against the palm of his hand, saving himself a blow that might have knocked the wind from his lungs. _Smart little brat_. “You’re gonna make me drop you if you keep that up.”

“Then _put me down_.”

“Mercy…?” Logan’s voice wavers somewhere behind them.

“It’s _fine_,” she seethes back, hardly reassuring, upside down over Colt’s shoulder and _still _trying to play nice. Logan’s earned her ire throwing punches in the past, but Colt wonders with a dark twist of delight where that puppy dog loyalty will fall when it’s Mercy on the line and not his pride. Might be fun to kick his ass. Certainly not as fun as what he wants to do to Mercy, but he likes to think that he’s prepared for every avenue of action that might cross his path.

In the end, it seems like Mercy’s _no more fistfights_ rule has Logan’s hands tied, and Colt carries her alone into the break room, where he kicks the door shut behind him, dropping them into a heavy silence.

“I can’t _believe _you.” She hisses the words into the space between his shoulders. “Carried me out of there like an absolute _barbarian_.”

Colt props her down onto the rail of the pool table and insinuates himself quite pointedly into her space. His hand shapes a firm grip around her chin, pinning her under the full force of his glare. 

Mercy glares back, but she doesn’t fight his grasp. Her chest heaves with heated breath, muscles tensing like she might still make a break for it until the first soft trace of pink rises telltale across her cheeks. _There it is. _

Long dark lashes frame her gaze and cast the faintest shadows down over her cheekbones, and some niggling, incessant urge to kiss the delicate shape of them coalesces with reckless abandon, tempting him across the empty space between them. The angry part of him bares teeth and digs its heels in; the aching in his heart suggests it’s far too late for that.

He firmly ignores both, clipping the words through his teeth when he speaks. “What have I _told you about that_?” 

Something twitches at the corner of her lips, the first half of a smile barely bitten down. “You know I _grew up_ speaking Spanish, right?”

“_Mercy_.” 

“So unless _you’re _gonna learn it and speak it with me -”

He kisses her, claims her mouth and all the storming words there, and only the brief second between heartbeats passes before Mercy _softens _to his touch, breathing a gasp and kissing him back with equal urgency, hooking her fingers into fistfuls of his shirt. He toes the line of too rough, but she tugs him closer, arching to bare her neck when his mouth scales her jaw and descends the soft stretch of her throat, her eagerness versed out in little actions he’s relieved to understand with perfect comprehension; this, at least, they can speak together.

The first latch of his teeth into her skin sets off a shiver that leaps down her spine. Mercy breathes out softly - _oh_ \- her thighs twitching around his hips as he bites down and sucks and scores a mark that will fast bloom and become insurmountably difficult to hide. Her fingers travel up his neck to curl through the roots of his hair, his name barely there on the sound of her breath, and his body sings with satisfaction: _yes, please, more of that, right fucking now -_

His mouth scours a scatterplot of love bites down her skin, slipping her shirt aside to mark the curves of her breasts and the soft, bronze skin over her ribs. She squeezes at his hair as he shoves her skirt up and continues his determined path down her thighs. Her voice breaks when he bites her there, fraying into tortured little gasps that almost vaguely shape his name.

Colt drags in a steadying breath and drinks in the sight of her before him, love-drunk and blushing, flustered from his kisses. The calculated network that he normally maintains among his thoughts quickly unravels, scattered out into a jumbled mess of _need _and _Mercy _and _now_. He wants to watch her fall apart right here on the fucking pool table, wants her against his mouth, to feel her come undone around his fingers -

Irked, he glances down at the oil stains still streaked across his hands, and reluctantly he sets his fingers to her thighs instead, leading them apart for the further progression of his mouth. He doesn’t need hands, he decides; his mouth is more than capable of purging every last remaining word of spoken language from her mind.

He doesn’t bother removing her panties. His teeth tug those dismissively aside, and then he has his mouth against wet heat and Mercy is so _ready for him_, sobbing when he runs the length of silky folds beneath his tongue and starts to hint at suction. Her hips jerk, oversensitive; she staves the harshest of his strokes away with the fist clenched in his hair, and he eases off, chasing her white-knuckled lead. 

“_Colt_-!” Mercy bites his name into the back of her hand, splayed out against faded green baize and fighting desperately not to make a noise; he can feel the tension of it in her muscles as she writhes under his mouth. He works his tongue in greedy, seeking spirals, and it doesn’t take him long to get soft broken noises past the border of her self-control, whining echoes of his name compressing down into a splintered chant as her hips lurch against him. 

The urge to _touch _her itches in the tips of his fingers. He grips them hard against her skin and redoubles his efforts, jaw aching and sweat stinging down the back of his stiff neck and every atom of it absolutely worth it when she gasps and arcs and falls apart. The muscles in her thighs sweep in tight around his head, and he eats her through the high, past the point of whimpers and shivers, until she’s nudging him away with the heel of her hand and a strangled whine of protest, legs falling weakly away from his face.

He swipes an arm over his mouth, curling in against her chest while she recovers, feeling the rise and fall of her ribs as she starts to catch her breath. His cock is cramped and unbelievably hard behind his jeans, but the satisfaction of making Mercy come and the soft stroke of her fingers through his hair have soothed the sharpest of the edges from his anger. He wraps himself around her and listens to the slowing rhythm of her heartbeat, tiptoes his fingers gently over burgeoning bruises, the dark blossoms where his teeth have shaped the same word on her skin: _mine _and _mine _and _mine_.

“Hey,” Mercy croaks eventually. “Hey. Kaneko.”

“Castellano.”

She tugs him by the hair until he rises to meet her gaze, those delicate brows furrowed above her eyes. “This was fun, but…” Her cheeks darken. “No more carting me off like an animal when I’m just speaking Spanish with Logan.”

“No more doing it where I can hear.”

“Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

She tweaks the shell of his ear, just hard enough to hurt. “Don’t be mean.”

A scowl tugs across his face, but he dips his mouth to a faint outline that his teeth left at the base of her throat, pressing the softest apology there. “You could be a lot less flirty about it.”

Mercy blinks then, taken aback. “It’s really that bad?”

“Oh, my _god_, it sounds like you two are gonna fuck each other right there.”

Her cheeks wash with pink, but she pinches her lip between her teeth, considering. Then she nods. “Okay. That’s fair. Business-casual Spanish only.”

Against his instincts, he actually laughs; and he still wonders deep down what it is about her that lifts so much of the weight from his shoulders. “Mercy.”

“I’m only joking a little… It makes you uncomfortable, so I won’t do it anymore.” She shrugs, shaping her shaking fingertips along the tense line of his jaw. The flush of pleasure is still warm across her face and throat when she offers him a coy half-smile. “I might have been teasing you a little. To see what you would do.”

“No shit.” Colt rolls his eyes, but his lips are gentle when he kisses the pulse in her throat. “And?”

She laughs, that sweet tooth sound, roughened in the wake of coming and entirely for him. “Aside from being thrown over your shoulder like a sack of rice, no complaints.”

“Noted.”

While he fixes her clothing lazily back into place, she watches him with lidded eyes and reaches out to catch his hand, threading their fingers together. “Would you prefer I speak it to you?”

He answers at once. “I thought that’d be obvious.”

“Even if you don’t understand?”

“I don’t need to.” He soothes his thumb at the back of her hand, follows after with his lips against her knuckles, pressing a kiss there that he hopes will translate right. “I understand you.” 


End file.
